Forking Around (Hot Cakes Book 2)

by Erin Nicholas

  He hadn’t missed her invitation. For dinner at her place. For more at her place. He got propositioned all the time. In fact, Danielle was being pretty subtle compared to some of the offers he got.

  But he wasn’t interested.

  And the reason had just walked in. He’d known Jane was the reason even before she’d come through Granny’s front door. But now, seeing her here, her long red hair down around her shoulders rather than in the ponytail or French braid she wore at work, in blue jeans and a pale-blue top that fell off one shoulder and did not say Hot Cakes on it, wearing canvas tennis shoes instead of work boots, he realized she was different from his usual type but very much like Danielle.

  Danielle was blond and shorter and way more OMG-Dax-you’re-amazing than Jane was. But she was a small-town Iowa girl who partied in blue jeans and did actual work with her hands. She probably saw her grandmother regularly and still went to church with the same people she’d known since preschool and probably gave directions by using things like “Take a left at Bill Reynard’s old place. You know, the place where Tom and Mary live now” instead of “Go north for two blocks.”

  He’d figured out that he and Ollie were probably the only humans in the town who didn’t know where Bill Reynard had lived for fifty-two years. But he hadn’t figured out why they couldn’t just say “Take a left at Tom and Mary’s place.” Though he didn’t know Tom and Mary either. And he was amazed there was only one “Tom and Mary” in the town in the first place.

  Still, Danielle had everything Jane did as far as just being a new type for him. If that was the draw he felt to Jane.

  He was starting to figure out that it definitely wasn’t.

  “Danielle, I need to talk to Dax. Alone.”

  Suddenly Jane was there beside the table, standing between his stool and the one Danielle occupied. She didn’t look at him or greet him. He considered greeting her but decided something more interesting was going on between the women when Danielle arched a brow. She looked surprised but also annoyed.

  “Well, I’m not done talking to Dax yet,” Danielle said.

  Dax lifted his glass of cider, hiding his smile. Far be it from him to interrupt two beautiful women who both wanted to talk to him. Alone.

  “It’s about the employee manual. Specifically, Section 47C,” Jane told her, putting a hand on her hip.

  Danielle paused with her bottle of beer halfway to her lips. “It is?”

  “It can be,” Jane said.

  “But it’s not?” Danielle asked as if clarifying an important point, setting her beer down.

  “Not yet,” Jane told her.

  Danielle narrowed her eyes. Then she looked at Dax, gave him a smile, and said, “I guess I need to go.”

  “Well, thanks for the invitation,” Dax said. “It was nice talking to you.”

  “Sure. Anytime.” Danielle’s smile was gone instantly when she looked back at Jane. She spun on the stool and slipped to the floor. “You’re kind of a bitch.”

  Jane shrugged. “Heartbroken as always to see you go.”

  Danielle flounced off and Jane took her stool.

  “So, hi,” Dax said, giving her a grin.

  “Hi.”

  “Employee manual, Section 47C?” he asked.

  “Danielle knows that section well. It covers theft of company property.”

  “She steals?” Dax asked.

  “Not anymore.”

  He grinned. “What did she take?”

  “Plastic cookie boxes and tape.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Like a million dollars’ worth?”

  “I think it came to like a eighty-four dollars.”

  “And that was a big deal?”

  “Not really. I mean, she got her hand slapped for it. She was on probation for a while. But obviously kept her job.”

  “Good.”

  Jane tipped her head. “And for the record, I would never turn someone in for that. I do understand stealing from your employer is wrong, and I’ve disliked Danielle since eighth grade, but I thought the whole thing was ridiculous.”

  “Okay. And you’re making sure I know that because?” he asked, sensing something in her tone.

  “Because you should definitely not promote someone who would not turn someone in for stealing.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “I’ll be sure to put that in your employee file.”

  She sat up straighter suddenly. “No. I mean, you don’t have to do that. Theoretically—”

  He chuckled. “Jane.”

  She stopped. “Yeah?”

  “Do you really think I even know where the employee files are kept?”

  She thought for two seconds and then nodded. “Good point.”

  He laughed. “So if you didn’t want me to specifically know about Section 47C and Danielle and that you would be the most diligent, rule-abiding person we could promote, what was that about?”

  “I was getting rid of her.”

  “Because you wanted to talk to me?” He liked that. He didn’t even care what she wanted to talk about. They could talk about asparagus for all he cared. He loved making this woman laugh. He loved that she seemed to know who he was, and that she still wanted to talk to him.

  “I did. I just—” She stopped and her eyes went wide. “Oh crap, she wasn’t telling you about her grandmother, was she?”

  He frowned and shook his head. “No.”

  Jane sagged a little with relief. “Oh good. God, I just thought of that. That maybe she was telling you how her grandmother is sick. She and Danielle are close.”

  “Why would she be telling me about that?”

  “Well, you…” She frowned at him, almost puzzled. “Well, you make people feel better. You get them talking. And you’re very concerned with people being happy. I just thought maybe she was kind of drawn to you and wanted to tell you about it because she knew you’d make her feel better.”

  Dax honestly didn’t know what to say to that for several seconds. He leaned in. “Well.” Then he blew out a breath and shook his head. Shit, now he absolutely wanted to make everything better in this woman’s life. “I’ll be honest with you… people do feel better after they hang out with me, but they don’t always come to me intending to spill. They come to play Ping-Pong or grab a beer or to hear one of my stupid stories. They usually come to me to forget about things. They don’t usually fill me in.”

  He hadn’t thought about that in a long time. But he knew it was true and he was okay with it. Ping-Pong, beer, and stupid stories were easy.

  “Huh.” She was watching him but clearly thinking something through. “So what was she telling you about?”

  “How good her pot roast is. And that I should come try it sometime.”

  Jane frowned and glanced in the direction Danielle had gone. “I knew it.”

  “You did?”

  “I knew she was hitting on you. For a second, I panicked about her grandma, I’ll admit, but I was right in the beginning.” She narrowed her eyes. “And did you want to hear about her pot roast?”

  She was asking about more than actual pot roast. Dax grinned. “Not even a little.”

  “Good.” Then she realized how that sounded. “She’s… made pot roast… for a lot of guys.”

  Dax chuckled and took a drink of the amazingly good hard cider he’d ordered, suddenly feeling really good about, well, a lot of things. “You realize what you’ve done, don’t you?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “You staked a claim.”

  “A… claim.” But her eyes flickered with realization.

  He nodded seriously. “You basically told another woman to back off. From me. In a very social situation. So… guess I’m all yours now.” He was so fucking incredibly okay with that, he was a little rocked by it.

  “Oh, I…” She glanced toward the bar again, where Danielle was gathered with other women about their age from Hot Cakes. Then she looked back at Dax. And sighed. “Shit.”

  He laughed. “I assume
you know how to make pot roast?” Somehow “pot roast” had turned into a flirty euphemism.

  “I am not making you pot roast,” Jane said. But the corner of her mouth was twitching.

  “Well, you have to now,” he insisted. “You can’t scare another pot roast maker off and then not do it for me yourself.”

  She lifted a brow. “What if I can do something way better than pot roast? Maybe I saved you from just pot roast.”

  He really did like this girl. “Absolutely wouldn’t surprise me,” he said honestly. “And knowing you as I do, I’m guessing whatever you’ve got has a lot more sugar.”

  Yeah, dirty sounding and true. He loved it.

  She laughed lightly. “Good guess.”

  He hoped that was true for any actual food she might make and for well, anything else she was offering.

  “So what did you want to talk to me about? If not Section 47C of the employee manual?” he asked. As intrigued as he was with Jane and any sugar she might give him—literal and otherwise—he was equally interested in her wanting to talk to him. He wasn’t being self-deprecating when he said people didn’t come to him to spill their guts. To have fun, be distracted from their problems, just let loose? For sure. And that was great. But people didn’t really seek him out for conversation. Other than his closest friends, of course. That Jane would assume someone would come to him for that was really… pretty damned awesome. Because it meant she thought maybe she could do that.

  “I was just feeling… kind of… yuck,” she said. “And I knew you’d make me…”

  She stopped, pressing her lips together.

  “What?” he prompted.

  “I just realized it might sound a little dirty.”

  “Love a little dirty,” he said. “Love a lot dirty too.”

  He’d give a million dollars, cash, right now to hear a lot of dirty from this woman, in fact.

  She took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, I knew you’d make me feel good.”

  Yeah, he would. And he only kind of meant that dirty.

  He leaned in, forearms on the table. “Okay, well, I really want to. Make you feel good.”

  There was a flicker in her expression that said it sounded dirty to her. But that she didn’t mind.

  “So is this like you’re hungry and need food to feel good? Or you had a bad night with your dad and need to feel good?”

  She looked surprised by that.

  “Max mentioned you spend Thursday evenings with your dad,” Dax told her.

  “Oh. You asked?”

  “Asked where you were? Of course.”

  She smiled softly at that.

  He went on. “Or is this a thing where you need a bunch of liquor to feel good and so also need to know you have a ride home? Or is this horniness and need to feel good in every single way I’ve been thinking of since I met you?”

  Yeah, he’d dropped that last one in there as if it were like everything else on the list. In a way, it was. He’d do whatever she needed, from feeding her to driving her home to stripping her naked and making her forget how to even spell Hot Cakes. But he also really did want her to know, boss or no, inappropriate or gray area, he had been thinking those things. They needed to be very much on the same page there.

  She blinked at him. Without saying anything. For a long time.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Just wondering,” she said.

  “About?”

  “If it can be all those things at once.”

  He felt his grin. Wide and instantaneous. “Oh yeah, it can.”

  “Then… yes. It’s… that.”

  Thank God. He knew how to fix three of those for sure, and if he was good at those, that fourth one—the one about her dad—might be easier. He had to admit, he was a little intimidated by her actually having real problems to deal with and wanting to talk to him about them. None of his close friends had problems. They were all young, vibrant, highly intelligent, good-looking, rich guys. They pretty much had it made. People came to Dax to forget about their problems, not to hash them out.

  But he wanted to help Jane. He’d try for her. And if he sucked at it… well, hopefully the liquor would take the edge off that.

  And the sex, of course. He knew he was good at that, at least.

  “Now I just need the order,” he told her.

  “Oh, a small Squealer. With extra marinara for dipping,” she said. “And a shot of tequila. Just one though, I’ll switch to soda after that. But yeah, one shot for sure.”

  He cocked his head. “I meant the order you wanted those things taken care of, but I guess you answered that.”

  She laughed. “Oh yeah, sorry. I’m starving.”

  He chuckled, lifting his hand to signal the waitress to come by to grab Jane’s order. “What’s a Squealer?”

  “Oh my God, their best pizza. Sausage, pepperoni, ham, and bacon.” She sighed happily at the thought. “I am unapologetic about how much I love it.”

  God, there was something about the way this woman ate that he really, really loved. “Sounds amazing.”

  Her eyes went round. “Are you eating with me? Because if so, we’re going to need a bigger pizza.”

  “How many slices in a small?” he asked as Riley, their waitress, arrived.

  “Six,” Riley said.

  “They’re small though,” Jane inserted. “Seriously, dude, if we’re ordering a small, you can’t have any.”

  He smirked.

  “And don’t you dare judge me for that.”

  “Absolutely not.” He looked at Riley. “A medium.” He glanced at Jane. “Medium?”

  She shrugged. “If four is your usual number of pizza slices.”

  “There are ten in a medium?”

  “There are eight. But they’re bigger slices than the six in the small,” she explained. “I will totally eat four of the medium.”

  “Huh.” He did love a great pizza. “Large, then.”

  Jane seemed relieved. He laughed. “And two shots of tequila. With salt and lime.”

  Jane nodded. “And water,” she said.

  “Got it.” Riley moved off to put their order in.

  “So, do you need to eat before you tell me about your dad? Or do you want to go into the storeroom while we wait for the food?” he asked.

  “The storeroom?”

  “The horniness,” he reminded her.

  “Oh right.” She nodded. “So you’re offering me a quickie in the storeroom?”

  “Absolutely. I’m here for you.”

  She snorted. “Well, thanks, but if you think I’m going to have sex with a millionaire for the first—and probably last—time in my life, in a dingy bar storeroom, you’re nuts,” she told him.

  He grinned. “Tell me more.”

  “Oh, there better be a huge hotel suite involved, massive king-sized bed, ridiculously high-thread-count sheets, Jacuzzi tub, room service, on-site spa with massage therapist included, one of those fluffy bathrobes to lay around in…” She trailed off. “Tell you what, let me watch Pretty Woman again quick, and then I’ll let you know if I missed anything.”

  Dax pulled his phone out and tapped on his Netflix app icon. “Do it now.”

  She laughed.

  Riley set down their shots and two glasses of water.

  Jane looked at him. He looked at her. Then they both licked the backs of their hands, she shook salt on both of them, and they clicked their glasses together. Then they licked the salt, shot the tequila, and sucked the lime wedges simultaneously.

  Jane didn’t even shudder as she swallowed the strong liquor.

  “Okay,” he said. “Since the hotel suite and all the perks are over in Dubuque and the amazing pizza is here—”

  “You really have a hotel suite with all that?” she asked.

  “Of course.” He leaned in. “And if I didn’t, I’d get it.”

  That made her smile. “So much charm you can’t even contain it.”

  “Something like that.
” He wanted to kiss her. More than he’d ever wanted anything. “Tell me about your dad,” he said instead.

  6

  He wanted to hear about her dad. Which was strange. He didn’t know how to handle that. He wasn’t sure he could do a thing to make it better, and he wanted to make things better for Jane in a way he hadn’t felt for anyone in a long time. His instinct should be to deflect and distract. Flirt. Maybe talk her into dancing. Maybe one more shot and a game of darts.

  Instead, he asked about her dad.

  “You really want to hear about that?” she asked. “Even with sex maybe, kind of on the table, you’d want to talk about my dad?”

  “If that’s one of the things you came to me for, I’ll do whatever I can to make it better,” he said with more sincerity than he’d felt for something in far too long. The last time was probably when Ollie had come to him and said, “I need you to help me make sure no one leaves this Comic-Con without knowing who we are.”

  He’d do anything for Ollie.

  Or Aiden, Cam, or Grant. Or his mom. Or brother.

  And now, apparently, Jane Kemper. A small-town Iowa girl who worked in a cake factory and had a sick father Dax couldn’t do a damned thing about.

  She looked a little amazed for a moment. Like she wasn’t sure if she should believe him, but then she wet her lips and said, “My dad has this weird disorder. They’re not really sure what it is. It’s a little like Parkinson’s, but they don’t think it’s that. They think it’s caused by exposure to pesticides through his work. But they don’t know which one for sure, and he’s the only one of the men who got sick from the work.”

  “What job?” Dax asked, frowning. That was a no-joking, bullshit thing. Someone got sick like that from work they were doing, but no one knew for sure?

  “He did crop spraying,” she said. “Flying planes to spray the fields with pesticides.”

  “So he’s a pilot? That’s cool.”

  She smiled. “He was. And then he also did farmwork. Various farms and farmers. Different jobs. But obviously exposed repeatedly to fertilizers and chemicals.”

  Dax nodded. “Weird he’d be the only one affected.”